


Won't You Scream for Me?

by aravenwood



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Asphyxiation, Electrocution, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:15:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23791423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: A fist slammed into his ribs and stole the air from his lungs. He doubled over – as well as he could in the chains hanging from the ceiling several feet above – and gagged, but held back the pained cry which built up in his throat.He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He wasn’t going to give them anything.OR Nyx is tortured. Not for information, but for a scream.
Relationships: Cor Leonis & Nyx Ulric, Crowe Altius & Libertus Ostium & Nyx Ulric, Crowe Altius & Nyx Ulric, Libertus Ostium & Nyx Ulric
Comments: 6
Kudos: 35





	Won't You Scream for Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pan2fel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pan2fel/gifts).



> This is the first fic I have written in so long. This last eight months or so have been incredibly long, hard, hectic and stressful as I've finished my degree and tried to keep my sanity as I do it. But today is the first day in months where I've been able to sit down and just write and write until I've nothing else to say. And you know what? It feels amazing.
> 
> I wrote this with the Whumptober prompt of muffled scream...but I think it fits the prompt for asphyxiation much better.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy! And I hope you enjoy this, Pan! This was almost going to be a very different fic with a very different character. Well...not a veeeery different fic...still whumpy.

A fist slammed into his ribs and stole the air from his lungs. He doubled over – as well as he could in the chains hanging from the ceiling several feet above – and gagged, but held back the pained cry which built up in his throat.

He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. He wasn’t going to give them anything.

A hand tangled in his hair, dragging him upright and yanking his neck back far enough that the surrounding muscles screamed. He sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek and forced out a shuddering breath through his nose as he locked eyes with his torturer. He was sickened by the almost gleeful expression of a man who enjoyed hurting others just a little too much.

“One scream and this ends. We’ll let you rest, ‘glaive. We might even feed you.”

Nyx bared his teeth in a weak imitation of a grin. “I’m not that hungry, actually. I had a big lunch.”

The sickening grin of his torturer fell, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. There was a flicker of what Nyx could only describe as madness in the man’s eyes, there for only a second before the hand tangled in his hair was gone and his head was roughly shoved forwards. Once more pain flared in his neck and shoulders, forcing him to grit his teeth and force himself to breathe steadily in an attempt to get the pain under control.

For what couldn’t be longer than a few minutes but which felt like so much longer, he could not see his torturer. The man was somewhere behind him, judging from the muttering. Nyx strained his neck to see, anxiety flaring in his stomach. Sane men were predictable, they wanted information and so had to ensure that their victim was in good enough shape to provide it. But this man…he didn’t want information – he hadn’t even asked for a name when Nyx had been brought to him, only grinned a coeurl’s grin and ordered the guards to use the shackles hanging from a metal loop in the ceiling.

He didn’t want information…he only wanted a scream.

Just as the anxious energy built to a climax and had Nyx tugging on his chains, the torturer appeared in front of him once more with a short metal stick. The man held it up in front of Nyx’s face and stared at him. Nyx stared back, his expression carefully blank. It was just a stick, the guards had already beaten him and he’d survived so he could survive this too.

The air crackled with electricity and Nyx flinched back in shock. Not just a stick.

His torturer let out a long laugh. “One scream and it’ll be over,” he reminded Nyx, his voice so calm and normal that Nyx couldn’t help but shrink back even further.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Very well.” His torturer lowered the shock baton, holding it lightly against Nyx’s stomach. The kingsglaive shuddered, his breaths coming more quickly as he tried and failed to appear calm and unafraid. Don’t scream, he reminded himself. Scream and they know you can break.

The man grinned. Then the pain began.

Every muscle in Nyx’s body felt like it was on fire. His head was forced backwards as his body tensed up against the fire flooding his nerves. He could feel his muscles convulsing, could feel himself fighting against the shackles in a desperate attempt to escape. A choked cry tried to force its way up his throat but came out as little more than a weak croak.

He couldn’t breathe.

The pain seemed to last a lifetime, and barely even faded as the electricity shut off. His body fell limp against his shackles as he gasped for breath. Every inch of his body felt like it was on fire and he could feel himself twitching still in the aftermath. For several minutes he just hung there, ignoring the pain in his wrists and shoulders as his arms were forced to support his entire weight. The pain lessened little by little until finally he forced his eyes open – he didn’t remember closing them – and raised his head to look at his torturer.

The man grinned and the pain returned.

Nyx couldn’t say how many times he was shocked, how many times he was left twitching and shaking and in more pain than he could ever imagine. By the time his torturer threw the baton in anger, he had no idea how he hadn’t screamed. He’d tried several times, but his throat was so constricted that no noise could escape. In any other situation, it would be funny – in an attempt to draw out a scream, his torturer had done the one thing which prevented it.

Maybe he’d laugh about it later. Probably not.

The torturer let out a long sigh and threw the baton down, the clatter of metal drawing an involuntary flinch from Nyx. The man smirked at the gesture and stepped closer until he was so close that Nyx could smell the whiskey on his breath. He looked Nyx up and down, watching him like prey, then without warning swung his leg back and in one harsh kick swept Nyx’s legs from beneath him. Pain flared in his wrists and shoulders and his diaphragm tightened until he was unable to draw a single breath. His mouth flew open instinctively, gasping wildly but unable to find the air his lungs so desperately needed, all the while he scrambled to get his legs beneath him. But it was as if his legs had given in because every time one foot landed flat, his knees would buckle and he’d be left choking again.

He was going to die, going to suffocate because of wobbly knees and a body trying desperately to slip into shock. What would the others say about that?

Cor.

Crowe.

Libertus.

All of the people who he knew would be searching for him. He couldn’t die because he’d never let them down before and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start now.

Baring his teeth and tensing his muscles, he wrapped his fists around the chains which held him up and pulled, dragging his body up until he could get his legs under him and was sure that they would stay. Air flooded back into his lungs and he gasped, every one as shuddering as the rest of his body.

There were tears on his cheeks.

His torturer was still smiling, looked only a little disappointed as Nyx took in deep heaving breaths. The man stepped even closer than before, his chest brushing Nyx’s bare one. He lifted one hand and placed it on the kingslaive’s stomach, pressing lightly on the deep purple bruises left by the guards who’d brought him here. Nyx flinched and gritted his teeth, but forced himself not to move away – he was unable to shake the fear that if he moved, he would lose his footing once more and be unable to pull himself up again.

The hand trailed from his stomach up his chest, stroking the collection of scars with his fingers as he passed them. He paused just as his hand reached Nyx’s neck and squeezed. It was so light, nowhere near enough to close his airways, but Nyx inhaled sharply and squeezed his eyes tight shut. His torturer laughed and pulled away. As Nyx opened his eyes once more, he saw yet another maniacal glimmer.

And then he saw the knife.

“You have one more chance to scream,” his torturer said, “or you will never breathe again. It’s a simple request, ‘glaive. One scream and this all ends.”

But it wouldn’t end. His torturer was a madman and nothing Nyx did would stop him. A scream would only tell his captor that he was breakable, that he could be tortured once more, this time for information, and Nyx would not allow that to happen.

He couldn’t tell his captors that they could break him.

The knife’s blade was cold as it brushed his stomach. He twitched but held himself as still as he was able even as it traced several lines on his skin, not cutting but just reminding him that it could. His torturer didn’t look at the blade, just watched for any flicker of fear, any reaction at all. But Nyx just gritted his teeth and fought to keep his expression blank.

That idea vanished as the knife pressed down harder and pain burst in his stomach as it sliced shallowly into his flesh. He clenched his fists around the chains above him and pressed his lips together, fighting to remain quiet even as the blade slid through his flesh. 

He was unable to stay quiet, however, as it was ripped from his stomach. He let out a short cry and threw his head back as if he could escape the pain if only he was far enough away. Blood poured from the wound down his stomach, soaking into his trousers.

A few seconds later and the action was repeated a few inches to the left, leaving behind a second shallow slice. Then a third. And a fourth. With each slice Nyx’s cries grew louder and his breaths grew faster and shallower as panic and pain threatened to overwhelm him. He refused to look down at the wounds or the knife, but with the pain he could imagine it all so vividly. A stomach littered with slices, smeared with blood. And a madman looming over him with a knife, grinning wildly.

But even as his cries grew so loud they scratched at his throat, he prided himself in the fact that he didn’t scream. Not quite, but he was close.

Out of nowhere, the torturer let out a long, frustrated cry. Nyx forced his eyes open just in time to see the handle of the knife swung at his face. Pain exploded in his cheek, then after a second swing in his temple. There was a clatter as the knife was thrown to the floor but the pain kept coming, punch after punch as the man let out his frustrations. Every swing had Nyx’s head bouncing around, knocking against his biceps and leaving him dazed and his ears ringing.

A particularly hard swing had him seeing stars. A second had him waking up what could have been several minutes or several hours later with blood trickling into his eyes. His entire face felt like one massive bruise and the rest of him wasn’t far behind, covered in aches and stabbing pains which had him wishing he could just curl up until they faded.

There was a crinkle to his left and he forced his head upwards. His eyes very quickly found his torturer with a plastic bag held in both hands.

“You won’t scream for me? Then die.”

And just like that the bag was forced over his head. He fought against it, shaking his head violently even as he felt hands knotting it around his neck. His breaths came wildly but every gasp dragged the bag against his nose and mouth, suffocating him faster and intensifying the panic flaring in his mind. There was no air, nothing, and the bag wouldn’t move no matter how much he shook his head. He tried to bite through it but the moment the bag was in his mouth the panic worsened and his mind went blank. His vision was going dark. His legs buckled and left him hanging by the wrists. His lungs felt like they were going to explode and all of the pains he’d been feeling just minutes before felt like nothing compared to this.

So wrapped up in panic and fighting so desperately for air which would not come, he paid no attention to the crash of a door bursting open or the shouting coming from all directions. He didn’t react to the hand on his arm or the ones which took his weight.

All that mattered was the knife which slashed through the bag and the air which suddenly flooded his lungs.

He gasped in as much air as he was able, almost choking but unable to care. He let out a low moan as the shackles which held him up suddenly fell open and several hands caught him, lowering him to the floor where he fought to curl up.

“He’s in bad shape. That’s a lot of blood and – what did they do to his face? I’m gonna kill that -!”

“Libertus!”

“Look at him! They’ve fucking tortured him!”

“I can see that! Ulric? Nyx can you hear me?”

Nyx forced his eyes open, eyelids so heavy that the simple action was exhausting. He found several faces hovering over him. Libertus. Drautos. Crowe. Cor. All looked so concerned that he wanted to say something – anything – to reassure them.

But instead, he offered them a weak, exhausted smile and passed out in Cor’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
